Chapter Three: Harbor

Lin Qihua’s family lived in Laizhou, not far from Yanjing. With modern transportation, the journey took less than an hour. Yet, for the first time, Lin Qihua realized how long it had been since he’d last returned home. Ever since he’d been discovered by a talent scout, he’d thrown himself madly into practice and performance, rarely making it back even twice a year—and then, only for a few short days each visit. Now, sitting in the car, he felt an overwhelming tide of longing and guilt. Had he been neglecting too many things all along—especially familial bonds?

Both his parents were at home, a rare occurrence. His father, Lin Yilun, was a renowned professor of classical studies at a university and a celebrated calligrapher, often busy with lectures or gatherings with old friends to discuss literature and art. His mother, He Yunyu, was a well-known guzheng performer, frequently touring both within the country and abroad. It was uncommon for both to be at home together. In fact, since Lin Qihua’s early teens, he’d mostly lived independently, honing his self-reliance and shaping his independent character. Otherwise, coming from such a family, he would never have abandoned his parents’ expectations to pursue a career in pop music.

“You’re back. Hurry and wash your hands, let’s eat,” his mother said, her face betraying nothing unusual.

“Mm.” Lin Qihua set down his luggage and walked into the living room. “Dad, I’m home.”

“It’s good that you’re back.” Lin Yilun smiled faintly and slid his tablet over. “Tell me, what happened?”

Lin Qihua picked up the tablet. It was the official microblog of Huayi Company, certified for the “Heavenly Sound” group. An official notice had just been posted, announcing to all fans that, due to practical needs and to further enhance the group’s strength, “Heavenly Sound” would undergo a formal reorganization. The new artist, Xiao Rong, whom the company had been grooming, would join the group, replacing the original member, Lin Qihua. “Heavenly Sound” would regroup and train diligently, striving to deliver better and more spectacular performances to fans. All were asked to stay tuned.

The post had gone up an hour ago. Clearly, everything had been prepared in advance; the moment he’d signed the paperwork, the company’s official account had rushed to announce it. How ironic.

In the year since “Heavenly Sound” debuted, they’d gathered a fair number of fans—all five members had both looks and talent, but for various reasons, never managed to rise to stardom. The sudden change caught many fans off guard, and they flooded the comments section with questions. More, however, expressed relief that something drastic was finally being done. It was obvious to any discerning eye that the group’s inability to succeed rested mainly on two people: Liu Feng and Lin Qihua. Sooner or later, one would have to go. Now the dust had settled, and with the group reorganized, many believed success was finally within reach. As for Lin Qihua—he was the loser, and who would care about a failure?

A few voices defended him, but amid the torrent of comments, their support was a drop in the ocean, barely noticeable.

Lin Qihua hadn’t registered his own microblog account and had no intention of responding. This was, after all, the truth—he was the one discarded. No amount of explanation would change that. Still, the fact that his father had found out so quickly moved him; it meant his family had always been paying attention.

His father gave a dry cough. “Your mother’s been following that account closely. She saw the update. So, can you tell us what happened? I don’t believe my son would be thrown out so casually.”

“It’s as the notice says.” Lin Qihua spread his hands. “The group had problems, and someone had to be held responsible. Unfortunately, that someone was me. Of course, there were other issues, but ultimately, it was my own lack of self-awareness, my impulsiveness, that led to this setback.”

“Seeing you aren’t discouraged, but instead have a clear view of yourself, puts our minds at ease.” His father smiled in comfort. “Do you remember when you chose this path?”

“Of course I do.” Lin Qihua’s face flushed. “I was young and reckless.”

“No, not at all. In fact, I admired you. The young should be full of spirit and bravado; otherwise, what’s the point of youth? I understood completely.” His father’s face softened as he recalled the past.

“It was so funny back then,” his mother chimed in, covering her mouth as she laughed. “You stood before us, brimming with confidence, telling us that while classical studies and music were all well and good, they only ever touched a few people. Elegant art takes too long to move hearts, and could never influence the whole world. You said you wanted to forge a path that bridged high and popular culture—to use the universal language of pop music to spread the charm of Chinese culture, to win this cultural battle. You were shining then, dazzling and radiant, and your father and I were both stunned.”

“Mom, please stop.” Lin Qihua covered his face, embarrassed by his youthful bravado.

“What’s there to be embarrassed about?” his father said sternly. “We agreed to let you take this path because of those words, because of your grand ambitions. What’s the matter? After just a few years, have you lost your way? Forgotten your dream?”

“I haven’t. It’s just,” Lin Qihua tried to explain, “the gap between dreams and reality is too great. I can only keep it in my heart, waiting until I’m strong enough to realize it.”

“I think you’ve lost sight of your original goal, distracted by the glamour of show business. Whatever the reason, being dropped isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If you’re truly capable, you’ll stand back up wherever you fall. Take this time to rest, reflect, and consider your future. If you feel this path is no longer for you, have the courage to give it up early and return to your studies—whether you want to learn music from your mother or classical arts from me, it’s up to you. If you want to persist, you must clarify your goals. Failure is nothing to be ashamed of; life needs pauses. Take your rest, then set out again.”

“I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll think it through.”

“Good. Now, wash up and eat. I’m giving you a week—after that, I want a satisfactory answer.”

“All right.”

That night, Lin Qihua opened his computer and logged into his messenger. He found a group with just over a hundred members—quiet, with little chatter. These were loyal fans he’d gathered over the past year—not fans of “Heavenly Sound,” but of Lin Qihua himself. Though small in number, he was deeply fond of them, often chatting and getting to know each one.

He had no desire to explain himself to the group’s general fanbase—nothing he said could change their minds. But here, to these fans, he felt he owed an explanation.

“Good evening, everyone,” Lin Qihua typed, glancing at the number of users online.

“Hey, Brother Lin’s here!” The first to reply was a young girl, still in junior high, but a devoted fan, always lively.

The group quickly came to life, everyone greeting him. Not one asked about the replacement; clearly, they were worried about upsetting him.

“Haha, I’m fine,” Lin Qihua replied. “You’re all worried I might be discouraged, right? Afraid I can’t take the blow? There’s no need. Right now, I’m as free as a bird, no more restrictions. I can sing and make music as I please. It’s actually wonderful.”

“Then why did the company replace you?” a fan finally couldn’t help but ask.

“It’s complicated, but mostly because the group wasn’t doing well,” Lin Qihua answered with a calm smile. “When results are poor, someone has to take responsibility. I was indeed a significant factor. Replacing me might make the group better. There’s no right or wrong in this.”

“So it was really just a fight for the lead singer spot, wasn’t it?” a fan named Night Wanderer cut right to the point. “Liu Feng and Qihua were always vying for the role of lead singer—the group’s core. Liu Feng’s style is dynamic and wild, while Qihua’s is gentle and soulful. In a group, that contrast lacks variety, but on his own, Liu Feng can’t compare at all.”

“Exactly! We all fell for his voice, didn’t we?” the young girl responded.

“So, from a group perspective, Liu Feng suits the lead, and Qihua is better off solo. If the two could cooperate, it might work. Maybe there’s more to the story.”

Lin Qihua forced a smile—Night Wanderer had hit the nail on the head. He’d long been aware of this issue, which was why he’d tried not to make a fuss. But Liu Feng’s domineering personality couldn’t tolerate anyone outshining him—especially after their falling out in training camp over that girl. Once they were in the same group, there was no room for both of them. It wasn’t that Lin Qihua insisted on being the lead; there was simply no need to spell all this out.

“Brother Lin, do you have any plans for the future?”

“Not at the moment. I just wanted to let you all know, so you wouldn’t worry,” Lin Qihua replied. “I intend to take a year’s break, reflect on my future, and work to improve myself. I believe that in a year, you’ll see a different me.”

“All right. We’ll all cheer for you. Some rest will do you good. Get yourself together, write some new songs. We look forward to your dazzling return,” Night Wanderer replied. Being in the industry himself, he knew Lin Qihua surely had his reasons for silence. In this business, such things were commonplace—endure, and you’re reborn; falter, and you fade into obscurity. What would become of Lin Qihua?